


Repression

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Other - Freeform, Post-War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2004-07-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature.  Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nighttime Visitors

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

It had been nearly two years since the return of the Travelers to the Shire. The menace of the people had passed and the land was beginning to rebuild itself. So, one cool night the future Thain of Tuckborough and Master of Buckland landed on the doorstep of Bag End.

“You don’t think it’s too soon, do you?”

“No, Pippin, I’m sure they’ll be glad to see us.”

“But what if they’re not ready for company? And besides, Sam’s letter said Frodo wasn’t feeling well.”

“Which is, if you’ll remember, the whole reason we made the trip. Besides, we’re not company. We’re family.”

They stood in silence for a few moments more until Pippin’s whisper echoed through the dark.

“Merry...did you knock?”

**

“Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Frodo, but I think someone’s lurking outside.”

“What do you mean, Sam? I didn’t hear a knock.”

Sam moved toward the door, carefully taking a poker from near the fire. “Exactly. I saw two people come up the walk, but I’ve not heard anything but whispers and soft voices since then. What kind of hobbit goes up to a person’s door and just stands there?”

“Calm down, Sam. They’re probably just collecting themselves,” Frodo told him, not even bothering to look up from his book.

Sam crept another few steps forward. “Maybe. But with the world the way it is—” He froze at a sound. “They knocked,” he whispered.

“I heard. Will you answer it now?”

“Oh. Right.” Sam put the poker down and went to the door. He opened it slowly, still uncertain of the safety.

“Hello, Sam,” Merry said cheerfully as he marched on in, followed by Pippin. Sam could only stand dumbly holding the door.

“Merry! Pippin!” Frodo dropped his book and jumped up, a smile spread across his face.

“Hello, Frodo,” Pippin said as he hugged his friend, a bit of surprise in his voice, “We didn’t expect to find you in such good spirits.”

“Well, how did you expect to find me?” Frodo laughed.

“Nearly at death’s door, by the way Sam put it,” Merry said with an amused glance at the chubby hobbit.

“Yes, he does tend to overreact, doesn’t he?” Frodo smiled at Sam, who was beginning to look a little offended.

Pippin gave Frodo a serious look. “So, you’re all right, then?”

“The wraithblade’s sting still makes itself known, but for the time I have come to tolerate it.”

“Really?” Pippin said cheerfully, “Well, I suppose we should head back, then.” He turned and headed for the open door before Frodo laughed and grabbed his cousin’s arm.

“Don’t be stupid. You will stay with us a while. It has been too long since we had a good visit.”

“How long?” Merry asked, mostly rhetorically.

“Not since the wedding,” Sam finally spoke up, “You should remember it well enough. You nearly set the mallorn on fire.”

“Oh, right!” Merry said with a laugh, “That was hilarious.”

“And not entirely our fault,” Pippin added, “If Gandalf had left proper instructions with his fireworks—”

“Who is that in there?” came a high voice from down the hall, “Who has come to visit?”

“No one, Rosie,” Sam answered back, “Just a couple of juvenile relations.”

Moments later the hobbitess glided into the room, smiling warmly. “Why, if it isn’t Merry and Pippin. How are you sirs?”

“Just fine, Rose, and you’re looking as lovely as ever,” Merry told her with a hug.

“A little too lovely, it seems,” Pippin added, with some surprise, seeing the noticeable bulge in her lower torso. He turned to her husband, “Sam, you’ve really got to learn to control your urges,” he chastised.

“Assuming it was Sam,” Merry said suggestively, eyeing Frodo with suspicion.

“I knew the ratio here was a bad idea,” Pippin agreed as all three other hobbits grew redder by the second, “Especially after all that time in Mordor.”

Rosie giggled, “That’s about enough, you two. You’re embarrassing my husband.”

“That would be the point,” Pippin teased.

“Now close the door,” she commanded, “before you let the wild animals in.”

“Too late, I’m afraid,” Sam muttered, glancing with half-feigned displeasure at the guests.

Pippin obeyed and the five of them spent several hours in front of the fire before finally going to bed.


	2. Incident at the Green Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

It wasn’t until several days later that things started to get really interesting. They were sitting in the Green Dragon, singing and dancing, just like old times, except for Frodo, who had lately begun to shun such revelry, conspicuously staying on the outskirts of fun. He may not have come at all, had the others not so convinced and threatened him.

Merry and Pippin were just finishing up the third retelling of their adventures with Treebeard (they’d had to start over several times as the other hobbits were always getting caught up in the description of the Ent-draught), when an old fellow known as Briggy Longbottom staggered in and ordered an ale. He went largely unnoticed for some time, until the hobbit beside him slipped in a pool of blood that was found to be coming from Briggy’s pant leg. The hair of his left foot was already matted with the stuff as it dripped over his toes to the wooden floor. As soon as the others realized these facts, all conversation immediately ceased. All eyes turned to him, not sure whether to be concerned, as he didn’t seem to be. It wasn’t until he finished his ale and fell off his stool that anyone moved to help him.

“Get him on the table!” Frodo shouted.

Several hobbits cleared the nearest table while others lifted Briggy onto it.

“Lift his head,” one hobbit yelled.

“No, raise his leg,” said another.

“He needs a drink,” offered a third.

“Quite, all of you! Let’s see him,” Frodo and his companions pushed through the crowd around the table until they had a front-row view.

Briggy was out cold. His body lay slack on the table, looking somewhere between dead and drunk (which was probably true). Gently, Merry pushed the left pant leg up to the knee, until the source of so much blood was revealed. Merry’s eyes dilated in disgust and, despite himself, he looked away. But the next moment he’d composed himself and revealed the wound to the others. It looked as if some animal had tried to dig Briggy’s kneecap out and very nearly succeeded. Frodo lurched forward, throwing his hands out before him, bracing himself on the table to keep from falling.

“Frodo!” Sam said, suddenly worried, “Are you ill?”

“No, Sam,” Frodo said as he straightened, recovering from the sudden faint, “Just a bit of dizziness. See, it’s already passed.” He turned his attention back to the patient. “Put something under his head. Try to wake him.”

They were somewhat successful in doing so and Pippin began to bind Briggy’s leg with some clean cloth while Frodo tried to get the story of such a wound.

“Briggy. Briggy, look here,” Frodo coaxed.

The hobbit groaned and bobbed his head around, trying to open his eyes.

“Briggy, how did this happen?”

“Uhhh...” he still sounded drunk, “Raccoon, I think.”

“You fought a raccoon?” Pippin asked.

“Just jumped out at me. In the field.”

“But we don’t get raccoons in the Shire,” Sam said.

“No, there are some,” Merry said, “We saw one on our way over.”

“That’s right,” Pippin added, “Just outside Hobbiton.”

Frodo called two hobbits to him. “Take him home. Get him cleaned up. Then call Daisy Proudfoot and see what she can do for him.”

When they’d taken Briggy away and the crowd somewhat dispersed, Sam went to stand next to Frodo, asking, “Why would a raccoon do something like that?”

Frodo’s eyes stared forward, watching the waitress clean the blood off the table. “I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know.”


	3. A Frog and a Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

Frodo never really got an answer, but he did get more questions.

A few days later, he was sitting in Bag End, being served soup and tea for lunch by Rosie, since he’d woken up feeling tired and quite unenthusiastic to do anything but read and write. Merry and Pippin had left early in the morning to visit some friends on the outskirts of town. Sam was in the garden, tending the seeds and soil as he’d liked to do in easier times.

“Thank you, Rosie,” Frodo said as she refilled his teacup.

“Is an anniversary on the horizon, Frodo?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t seem well.”

“Oh,” Frodo muttered, understanding her meaning, “No, it’s not. Perhaps I caught a cold or something. It will likely be gone in a few days.”

She was about to express her confidence that he was right when they both heard a loud commotion just outside the window. They jumped up and ran to look.

Sam appeared to be some kind of freaky dance. He jumped around swinging his spade, shouting, “Hey! Ah! Hoy!”

“What are you doing?” Frodo asked him.

“Frog!” Sam yelped, hopping about, “Frog!”

“Is it a new dance?” Rosie asked.

Sam spared one irritated glance at her, pointing sternly at the ground, “Frog!”

Finally, Frodo and Rosie saw a small, greenish-gray lump bouncing around Sam, ramming him repeatedly.

“It’s trying to bite me!”

“Well, hit it with the spade!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!”

With a burst of energy, Frodo jumped out the window and grabbed a basket that was lying nearby. He waited until the right moment, then slammed the basket down.

They stood, waiting, watching.

“I think you got it,” Sam said, hearing a thumping coming from under the basket.

“What do we do with it?” Frodo asked.

“Don’t kill it!” Rosie shouted from inside.

“Then what, Rosie?” Sam asked.

“Why don’t you just put a rock on top to hold it for now, then think of something later?”

This seemed logical, so they set a large stone atop the basket and went inside. They never did remember to do anything else with the frog.

**

About a week later, Sam and Rosie invited some friends for dinner. Besides Merry and Pippin, the Gaffer was there, as well as Rosie’s brother Tom and his wife Marigold (who was also Sam’s little sister) and Bob and Dandy Bolger from down the lane. Frodo’s illness had not gone away in a few days. In fact, he was worse. In the past two days, he had not moved from his bed except to tend to certain necessities of life. He had grown paler than usual, and when he spoke it was very softly. The others were beginning to get quite worried about him. They certainly would not have had the dinner, except that it had been planned for weeks and Frodo quite insisted. He was asleep now, anyway, so they thought he’d be fine for a few hours.

“This is the best meat pie I’ve ever tasted, Rosie,” Merry said as the meal was winding down.

“Thank you, Merry.”

“Is there any more?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” she said, handing him the dish, “There’s always more. Pippin?” she offered the Took some.

“No thank you,” Pippin replied, “I’m stuffed.”

All movement ceased. Everyone looked at Pippin in shock. After a moment, he said nervously, “I mean...sure. I’ll take some more.” He took the dish and everyone else seemed satisfied. Rosie offered more food to everyone else, but all declined, except the Gaffer.

“Get it now, while we can,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Meat, lad,” the Gaffer told him, “After all the animals leave, there won’t be any more available.”

Everyone froze again.

“Pardon?” Pippin asked, unable to find words for his confusion.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the way the animals have been acting,” said the Gaffer, “They’re all going mad. Soon enough they’ll all run off or need to be killed. Farmer Maggot got bit by one of his own dogs. The beast wouldn’t let go until it had three bleeding holes in it’s side.”

“Please!” said Marigold, “We’re trying to eat.”

“So was the dog,” said the Gaffer with a laugh.

“This sounds serious,” Pippin said.

Merry tried to speak before swallowing, “Ish’t mashic, d’you fink?”

“I don’t see what else it could be,” Sam said.

“But who could be responsible?” Pippin wondered, “I thought all the really magic folk were either dead or good.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there are many things out there no one bothered to tell us about,” Merry said.

“I’m quite certain of that.”

They all turned to the doorway, to see where the voice had come from. Frodo leaned heavily against the doorframe. Sam jumped up and helped Frodo to his chair.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Frodo?”

“Not well enough to do what we all should,” he answered wearily, “There is some dark power in Hobbiton of late.”

“You mean the animals?” Pippin asked.

“They are evidence enough,” answered Frodo, “but I can feel it, as well. Dark visions come to me in my sleep. I cannot see them clearly, but they are a fell reminder of the cloaked death you yourself helped slay, Merry.”

“Ringwraiths?” Pippin asked, looking confused, “But they’re all dead.”

“That’s what he just said,” Merry whispered to him.

“Whatever it is,” Sam said with conviction, “we need to get you to safety. If it’s dangerous, we shouldn’t stay around here.”

“True enough,” Frodo said, “But as I said, I do not think I could make it very far. It took far more strength than I guessed just to walk down the hall. But you and Rosie should get out of town until things return to normal.”

“No, Mr. Frodo,” Sam told him, “You know I won’t leave you. But yes, Rosie, I think you should go. If anything happened to you or the baby, I just don’t know what I’d do.”

“You can stay with us, Rosie,” said Tom, “for as long as you need.”

“Very well, dear Sam,” she told him, “but be careful, will you? I don’t want to return to an empty house.”

“Don’t worry, Rosie,” Merry said cheerfully, “Pippin and I’ll be here. We wouldn’t leave these two to fend for themselves.”

“Of course,” Pippin agreed, then mumbled to Merry, “I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one to explain to Aragorn if anything happened to our Ringbearers.”


	4. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

Once the decision had been made, they wasted no time. Rosie left that night. The next day passed mostly in peace. Frodo stayed in bed, no worse than the day before, but no better. Sam stayed with him while Merry and Pippin tried to find out what they could in town. What they discovered was not encouraging. Several other people had left, a couple entire families, even. Almost all pets were locked up. Their owners did not want to find themselves in Farmer Maggot’s situation. While during the day the people seemed as hobbity as ever, when night fell it was as a blanket of solemnity over the town. There were fewer hobbits in the streets and pub. Merry and Pippin returned to Bag End with dampened spirits.

**

Late in the night, Pippin awoke with a terrible thirst. He lay there for a minute, trying to make the thirst go away and get back to sleep. It didn’t work. With a grunt of annoyance, he crawled out of his bed and slumped across the room. Not bothering to light a candle, he slogged down the hall and into the kitchen, got himself a glass of water, then started back.

When he got partway down the hall, he froze. Eyebrows raised, his head slowly turned toward Frodo’s door. He stepped toward it. Slowly, his hand reached out for the door knob. Soft rustling came from within. With hardly a sound, the door opened and Pippin stepped in.

Frodo didn’t notice his entrance. Frodo didn’t seem to be noticing much of anything. He lay in his bed at an odd angle, his left arm flung above his head and one leg hanging off the side of the bed. Pippin froze, stunned by the sight before him. There was a figure in bed with Frodo. It cradled him in it’s arms, rocking back and forth a bit. It was almost sweet, like holding a baby, but for one thing. The strange figure had it’s head lowered and it seemed very much to Pippin that its mouth was clamped on Frodo’s neck.

The water glass slipped from Pippin’s fingers and shattered on the ground, but the intruder took no notice of it. Suddenly, Pippin’s mouth dropped open in terrible recognition.

“Merry! What are you doing?!”

The room was dark, but it appeared that neither of the other hobbits even heard him. Seconds later, Sam burst into the room, bearing a bright candle. For a split second, he, too, could only stare in shock at the strange sight before him. The glow of the candle cast a surreal and eerie light on the two other hobbits. Frodo was washed out, pale, but with a look of peace on his features. And there was Merry, eyes closed, clutching him in his arms, mouth moving like a nursing baby over the soft skin of Frodo’s neck.

Finally, Sam’s instincts kicked in. Dropping the candle, he ran to the bed, followed by Pippin. Grabbing Frodo with one arm, he used the other to push Merry away. Pippin jumped on the bed behind Merry and pulled his cousin off Frodo. Sam laid Frodo gently back on the bed and frantically checked to see if he was alive. When he checked Frodo’s neck for a pulse, he pulled his fingers back covered in blood. Pippin slammed Merry against the wall.

“Are you crazy?!”

For the first time, Merry’s eyes popped open. They weren’t angry or hungry, but rather confused and concerned.

“Pippin?” he asked as if the other had interrupted his reading, “What is it?”

Pippin couldn’t have hidden his astonishment if he’d tried. “What is it?” he repeated, “What is it?! That’s it!” He pointed at Frodo, who was barely moving and groaning weakly. “You’re a vampire, Merry!”

“What?” Merry asked, getting a little annoyed now, “You wake me up in the middle of the night to accuse me of being something that doesn’t exist? Have you been drinking, Pippin?”

“No,” Pippin said angrily, with a degree of confusion creeping into his voice, “but you have.”

“What do you—” Merry’s question fell from his lips as he finally tasted something in his mouth. His brow furrowed as he ran his tongue experimentally along his lips. His eyes widened in shock when his tongue hit something he wasn’t used to. He raised his fingers to his mouth to feel the two large fangs that hung down from his upper teeth. His fingers pulled back before his face and he saw the blood smeared on them.

“Ugh!” he yelled in utter revulsion, knocked Pippin’s hands away from him and bolted from the room.

After sharing a concerned, perplexed look with Sam, Pippin followed him.

**

He found Merry in the kitchen, frantically washing his mouth out. Over and over he swished water around his mouth then spat it out the window.

Pippin approached cautiously. He slid slowly across the floor, speaking in a soft, gentle voice. “Do you mean...you didn’t know what you were doing?”

Merry turned to him, looking sick. With the blood gone, the fangs had disappeared. He wiped the water from his mouth with a towel. His eyes were angry, like he’d been treated very unfairly. “What I did?” he asked in a low, choking voice, “You mean did I know that all night when I thought I was sleeping quietly in my bed, I was really in Frodo’s room...” he couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought of it caused his stomach to heave. He could barely get his head out the window before he puked. His eyes clenched, he brought his lowered head slowly inside again.

“Actually,” Pippin mused, “This would explain why Frodo’s been so ill lately. You’ve probably been doing that ever since we arrived.” He ended almost cheerfully, glad to have discovered the answer to a riddle.

But it didn’t make Merry feel any better. He threw his head out the window again as he hurled the contents of his stomach on the grass. When he finished, unfortunately, he opened his eyes before his head was back inside. When he saw the vomited blood on the ground before him, he puked again.

Pippin winced in sympathy. He heard footsteps behind him and saw Sam glaring at Merry’s back, not at all sympathizing with his sickened state.

“How’s Frodo?” Pippin asked him.

“He’ll live,” Sam grunted, “as long as he doesn’t lose any more blood.”

They stood there in an uncomfortable silence, just watching Merry retch out the window.

“Well,” Pippin said finally, “at least we know what was wrong with him.”


	5. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

Merry stared at the floor, not daring to meet the flaming gaze that he yet felt on his face.

“Frodo could have died,” the stone-hard voice hit like an anvil strike in the silence of the night.

Merry’s reply was barely above a pained whisper, “I know, Sam, and believe me, I didn’t – I don’t – want this to happen.”

“But it has, Merry,” Sam said, his voice overly harsh, “It is happening!”

“And it is as much news to him as to us,” Pippin broke in, defending his cousin.

Sam softened slightly, “How did this happen? I mean, to you?”

They looked at Merry expectantly, but he just looked back blankly. “I have no idea,” he blurted out finally, rather defensive.

Sam stood up, doubt painted over his face, “I expect that’s the sort of thing a person would notice.”

“So would I,” Merry said, standing also, mimicking Sam’s motion.

“You were with him most,” Sam said, turning to Pippin, “Did you not see anything?”

“I wasn’t there every second,” Pippin protested, then something seemed to occur to him, “But now that I think of it, you were out during the day. Isn’t sunlight harmful to vampires?”

“Oh, please don’t say that word,” Merry groaned.

Pippin grinned wickedly. “Vampire,” he whispered, “Vampire, vampire, vampire. You’re a vaaaampiiiirrre.”

“Quiet!” Merry and Sam both said and Pippin’s smile disappeared.

“So,” Sam began, taking on a more rational tone, “You were turned into a vampire, but you don’t know how or when. You’ve been attacking at least one person in your sleep, presumably every night, but you didn’t know you were.” He paused as they all catalogued this information. “What do we do about it?”

**

As soon as the sun rose, Pippin set off to find Rosie. Sam stayed back to tend to Frodo, assisted (somewhat ironically) by a downcast Merry. Frodo’s condition was stabilized and he would occasionally wake long enough to get some fluids down, but he never really registered anything the other two said, nor did he really appear to be aware of their presence. With each hour that passed with no visible improvement, Merry felt his heart sinking further into his stomach.

Pippin arrived at the Cottons’ around noon. He pounded (a little too fervently) on the door, then stood huffing, leaning on the doorframe until Rosie’s brother opened the door.

“Good day,” Pippin said, finally catching his breath, “Is Rosie here?”

“Pippin?” Rosie came to the door and welcomed him in. As he rested in the living room, Rosie brought in a tray of tea and crackers. He thanked her and helped himself. She sat across from him and waited for him to say something, but he just kept eating crackers.

“I don’t want to sound rude, but what are you doing here?” she finally asked him.

He looked up, his mouth half-full of cracker. “Right,” he said, swallowing, “We need your help with something.”

“Of course,” she said, growing worried, “Is something wrong?”

“Well, yes. See, uh...” he sighed, not knowing where to start.

“Spit it out, Pippin.”

“Merry’s a vampire and he’s been sucking Frodo’s blood every night since we arrived but he didn’t know it and now we’ve got to find a cure before Frodo dies or some other terrible thing happens.” He said it all in one breath while she just sat staring blankly. When he took another breath, he raised his eyebrows in question. “Rosie?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper; she was using all her strength to stay composed, “What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to do some research. Find out everything you can about vampires. History, fact, even legend. Whatever you can find. We don’t know what might help. Just make sure you don’t tell anyone why you’re doing it.”

“You’d better head back,” she said, not bothering give her assent, “Sam and Frodo need your help.”

Pippin got up and headed for the door, “Thanks for the tea, Rosie. Let us know when you’ve found something.”

After he’d left, she wasted no time.


	6. Bondage Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

By the time the sun finally set, Frodo had begun to recover. He was eating, or at least drinking, well. He sat up in his bed, a wide bandage around his neck. Sam had brought a chair into the room and a blanket was laid across it. They had all decided to eat dinner in there, so Frodo wasn’t left alone. He smiled as he saw them all sitting on the floor like children, and almost laughed as they fought over the last biscuit. ‘How far we’ve all come,’ he thought, ‘and yet we’ve not moved at all.’

After dinner and dessert and a bit of a smoke, it was decided that Sam would stay in the room with Frodo while Pippin would watch outside Merry’s door.

They went to bed and things seemed quiet for a while. Pippin lay in the hall, his nose whistling softly as he slept. Slowly, the door knob to Merry’s room turned. Pippin awoke just as the door opened. He jumped up and grabbed Merry’s wrist. His cousin just twisted his arm and shoved him with a strength Pippin would not have expected.

“Sam, he’s coming!” Pippin yelled as he scrambled off the floor.

Merry stepped down the hall, eyes closed, face neutral. Whether by memory or by instinct, he found Frodo’s door without searching. When it opened, he couldn’t take a step in before Sam launched himself at him, tackling him to the ground. Merry suddenly woke.

“Ow!” he yelled, “Sam, what’s–” Evaluating the situation, he understood. “Oh, no. Again?” Then a wave of panic hit, “Did I–”

“No,” Pippin assured him, setting him at ease.

**

“Ow! It’s biting into my skin!” Merry protested as Sam tied the chord around his wrist.

“Better that bite than another,” Sam told him sternly. They were tying Merry to his bed, security against his future liberties.

“Is this really necessary?” Merry asked, almost pleading.

“Ask yourself that, Merry,” Pippin said, then made a slurping sound that made Merry twitch. He made no further argument as they pulled his limbs straight and lashed him to his bed. So he passed the rest of the night, and all four hobbits slept in relative peace, and he was not untied until morning broke.


	7. So Much For the Healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

They kept to this practice for the next several nights and Frodo continued to improve. By two weeks later, he had almost fully recovered.

“Good morning, Sam,” he said cheerfully as he walked, feet sliding along the floor, into the kitchen.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo,” Sam turned from where he was cooking some eggs, “You don’t need to get up. I can bring your breakfast to you.”

“I know you can,” Frodo laughed, “but there is no longer a need. I am well enough to eat with the living. I have grown tired of lurking in the shadows of my room”

“Speaking of which,” Pippin said from the corner and Frodo finally noticed him there, “Has anyone untied Merry yet?”

They looked at each other, none taking responsibility for this. Pippin set his cup down and moved to the hall, stretching as he went.

As he opened the door to the silent room, he expected to see Merry still sleeping. But his cousin was not asleep. Nor did he seem to be awake. He appeared in a state that was half of each. He lay flat, as he was tied, shivering, eyes staring at the ceiling, but half-closed.

Suddenly aware of this strange state, Pippin ran the few steps to the bed, which he noticed seemed to be vibrating from Merry’s convulsions.

“Merry, are you all right?” he asked as he worked to untie the bonds. As each cord was released, the limb was curled in tight to the body, as if retracting in on itself, but no sound other than a faint moaning came from Merry’s lips. “It’s morning, Merry, time to get up,” Pippin said, trying to sound cheerful, still hoping nothing was really wrong.

When he was free, Merry curled into a fetal position and wrapped the blankets tight around himself. “Oh, Merry, what’s happened to you?” Pippin asked softly as he stroked the sweat-matted hair away from Merry’s eyes. His cousin seemed not to register anything that was happening. His eyes remain unfocused.

Pippin left for a moment, but quickly returned with Sam and Frodo.

“One well just as the other takes ill,” Sam muttered up on inspection, “That’s a mean trick of fate.”

“I do not think this is fate, Sam,” Frodo said as he sat on the bed and looked at Merry’s twitching face, “Nor do I think he is merely ill. His color is very strange.”

It was true. Almost all color had gone from Merry’s face. Even his fingernails were completely clear.

“I’ll go find the healer,” Pippin resolved, “Maybe she can do something for him.”

Before anyone could discuss it, Pippin was gone. Frodo turned concerned eyes to Sam, “Get some water. Let’s see if we can get him to drink.”

**

Pippin returned within the hour with Daisy Proudfoot in tow. Literally.

“Release me, Master Took,” she said indignantly, tearing her arm away from his grasp, “I’m coming. Just give me time.”

“We don’t have time,” Pippin said, just as irate, “Now hurry.”

They were met at the door by Sam, who quickly updated them on Frodo’s condition as they rushed in. “No change, I’m afraid.”

“Hello, Samwise,” Daisy said cheerfully as Pippin dragged her by.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Proudfoot,” Sam replied, not feeling especially chatty.

Entering Merry’s room, she went straight to work. First, she shooed the others away from the bed, then she inspected the patient. She looked at him for several seconds, sizing him up, ‘hmm’ing and playing with a curl that hung down from her temple. She put a hand on Merry’s forehead, then quickly pulled it back.

“Strange,” she said, then gave no explanation, and for a moment Pippin was reminded of Treebeard.

The hobbits stood in rapt attention. Finally, Pippin said, “Yes?”

“He has no fever,” she said, moving suddenly, “With the way he’s sweating and shivering, I would expect a fever, but there is none.”

“What does that mean?” asked Sam.

“It means I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she replied, then turned and walked out the door.

They followed her in astonishment. “What?” Pippin asked, “That’s it? You’re not even going to try?”

“Yes, that’s it,” she told them, stopping at the threshold, “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“But couldn’t you try something?” Frodo implored.

“I could – if you wanted me to make him worse,” she was getting defensive, “I suggest you take care of him, let him get some rest, plenty of liquids. And if he doesn’t get better...,” she stopped again.

Pippin didn’t want to see how long this pause would last, so he blurted out, “Yes?”

She met his eyes, “Find a better healer.”

With that, she departed, and the three hobbits were left wallowing in frustration.

**

“Do you think he’s hungry?” Pippin asked as they were all gathered around Merry’s bed, watching him. There’d been no improvement all day. “Maybe he’s malnourished.”

“He’d been eating regular right up ‘til today,” Sam answered.

“Maybe he got some bad food,” suggested Pippin.

“He’s been eating the same food as the rest of us,” Sam told him.

Frodo leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “I’m afraid he may be thirsty.” Pippin picked up the glass of water beside the bed and moved to give Merry some. Frodo stopped him with a look. “Not for water, Pippin.”

Pippin set the water down and slid back to his seat. “Oh.”

“So what do we do?” Sam asked.

“You know what we have to do, Sam,” Frodo told him, his head hung in thought, “We have to find Merry some blood.”


	8. Strange Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

They sat in silence for a few moments before one of them spoke. “Well, let’s get on with it, then,” Sam said, rolling up his sleeve, “Mr. Merry needs some blood, I suppose I’ll have to be the one to give it to him.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Frodo couldn’t help but laugh. “No, Sam,” he smiled, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, it can’t be you, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said with that concerned, sincere look in his eyes that seemed just a little bit hurt by Frodo’s laugh, “You’re still on the mend.”

“He’s right, though,” Pippin said, looking just as resolute, “It can’t be you, Sam. If Merry needs help, I should be the one to give it to him. I’m his cousin, after all.”

Frodo couldn’t contain himself. He burst out laughing, prompting the other two to stop and look at him as if he’d gone mad.

“This is serious, Frodo,” Pippin said in an almost-scolding tone.

“Of course it is, you wonderful, foolish hobbits,” Frodo said, an affectionate smile still on his face, “But you’re both going about it the entirely wrong way.”

“Well, what other way is there?” Pippin asked, not lightening at all.

Frodo stopped smiling, “Hobbits are not the only things with blood.”

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam was shocked, “Are you suggesting we get him blood from a man?”

“Animals, Sam,” Frodo sighed, “Animals have blood, too.”

There was another moment of silence as they soaked this in. Pippin’s grave mood passed and he nodded, “Well, right then. Let’s go find an animal.”

**

“That looks like a good one.” Without waiting for Sam to respond, Pippin trotted off through the field, head ducked to avoid detection, a metal pail clattering in his hand.

“Wait! Pippin!” Sam half-yelled, half-whispered at him as he remained crouched in the bushes.

The younger hobbit paid no heed, being perhaps a bit reckless in his haste to help his cousin. With a huff, Sam looked around, then followed.

As they slunk across the grass, Sam wondered if he’d been overreacting by insisting Frodo stay behind with Merry. He may still be recovering, but he would have acted with more tact than Pippin when infiltrating a neighbor’s farm.

Pippin hunched next to his bovine quarry and pulled a knife from his pocket. He held up the pail and the blade and creeped closer to the cow. When he was inches away, he froze.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked him when he finally caught up.

“This is odd,” Pippin answered.

“Of course it is,” Sam replied, “We’re stealing blood from cattle.”

“No, not that,” said Pippin, “It looks like this girl’s already been bled.”

“What?” Sam leaned closer. The cow’s jugular was torn slightly, like something had bitten it. “Well, that’ll make our cut will be less obvious, then. Hurry now.”

With the sharp blade, Pippin made a cut in the cow’s neck. It was small enough that it might pass as just a scratch, but immediately blood began flowing out.

“The pail,” Sam motioned Pippin to put the pail under the cow’s neck, which he did with an uncomfortable gulp.

After far longer than they would have liked, the pail was half-full. Suddenly, they heard a shout.

“Who’s out there!?” the voice demanded.

The hobbits spun, sloshing some of the red liquid around them.

“Time to go,” Pippin announced, and they hopped off, running out into the night.


	9. 'Mare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

The heat was sweltering. Frodo licked his chapped lips, knowing it would somehow only make them drier. How close was he now? He could see the flames. They were so bright in the forever night of this land. He could feel their heat.

The chain bit into his neck. It had grown so heavy now. He wanted so badly to be rid of it...and yet he didn’t. He’d come so far and now so close, on the very mountain itself, he doubted himself.

So weak now...so very weak. His strength seemed to drain from him with the blood that dripped from the wound in his neck. Could he make it the last few hundred meters? Where was Sam?

He turned his head and saw that his friend had gone. Here, now, at his moment of direst need and import, his companion had abandoned him. How could he do this? This wasn’t like him. But, wait...what was that?

The body of Sam lay on the rock of the mountain. His skin was pale as a ghost, his eyes stared upward at the ash that spewed from the volcano as it fell to the ground. In his neck, so slight as to be near invisible, were two small holes. A tiny trail of blood trickled from them.

“Sam?” Frodo asked. What had happened? Why wasn’t Sam moving? He took a step toward him when he felt a great weight suddenly upon his back.

Gollum. The fiend had leaped on him from some hidden crevice. Frodo grasped and struggled with Gollum, but soon felt another piercing pain in his neck, teeth sinking into his flesh. With a cry, he stumbled backward and tumbled down the mountain.

He landed with a thud. The pain was gone, as was the one causing it. He was back in his own clothes and felt a cool breeze around him. The fire and rock was gone, replaced by water and grass. He saw a pedestal before him and he recognized the place. Galadriel stood there, looking down on him.

“I know what it is you saw,” she told him, “for it is also in my mind.”

“Will it come to pass?” Frodo asked, speaking unnaturally slowly.

She turned to face him fully, and her eyes grew dark, “It already has.”

With that, another figure appeared from somewhere in the trees. It was a being that seemed to throw the whole forest into darkness. A creature of nightmare and shadow. It was a Ringwraith.

“No...” Frodo wanted to shout, but his voice could not get above a whisper. He backed away in terror, never taking his eyes off the wraith. But it was not toward him that it was moving.

She didn’t even see it. Somehow, it avoided her perception. She didn’t see it as it approached her. She didn’t see it as it drew itself to her, practically into the very folds of her dress in its closeness. And she didn’t see it as it leaned it’s darkened hood down toward her neck.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her eyes bulged, and her body went stiff and slack at the same time. The wraith grabbed her harshly around the stomach as it clamped itself onto her jugular. A thick stream of blood trailed down her neck, matting bits of her golden hair and staining her ivory dress.

Frodo wanted to pull his sword and tear the wraith away from her, but he had no sword, and he was frozen to the spot. He could not save the Lady, could not protect that which was most beautiful. He could do nothing but fear what would happen when the wraith was done with her.

And soon enough it was. As her body slackened, knees buckling, the wraith lowered her body to the ground. It was almost gentle, the way it did it, almost like death itself. Frodo watched in terror as the wraith finally released it’s grip on her now-still form. Still kneeled beside her, it raised it’s head to look at him, and for the first time ever, Frodo saw a face within the hood.

Merry.


	10. Here, Try This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

“Frodo!”

Frodo jerked forward, not aware that he’d fallen asleep. For a brief moment he was caught in the disorientation common after a sudden awakening, but as soon as his eyes fell upon the shadowy form in the bed, he was back in the present.

“Frodo,” Pippin burst into the room, trying not to spill the pail in his hands. Sam was close behind him. “We got it.”

“Where?” Frodo asked, standing to inspect their spoils.

“Out at Hamstead Chubb’s farm,” Sam told him grimly as he lit a new candle where the old one had burnt down, “I think he may have seen us.”

“Let’s hope he didn’t get a very good look,” Frodo said, frowning at the blood.

Pippin saw the frown and panicked, “What’s wrong? Is it not the right kind?”

“No,” Frodo assured him, “It’s just...this all feels so wrong.”

“I know what you mean, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said sympathetically, “But it seems unavoidable.”

“Yes, I know,” Frodo said softly, then after a moment he gathered himself and spoke louder, “Pippin, see if you can’t get him to raise his head. Sam, we’ll need a cup and a ladle. I won’t have him drinking from the pail like a dog.”

Sam ran to the kitchen while Pippin moved to his cousin. Merry was sleeping for the moment, looking more or less peaceful. When Pippin tried to wake him, he only moaned and shifted position. So, Pippin crawled onto the bed and folded his legs under him so that he sat on his feet. He lifted Merry’s head and shoulders to rest on his lap, propping them up in a somewhat more erect position.

“Merry...Merry,” he said gently, trying to get the sick hobbit to wake. When he got no reaction, he continued, “It’s time to take your medicine.” He remembered Merry’s mother saying that to him when he took ill in their youth. It had worked then and he hoped it would work now.

Merry grumbled and blinked awake. He looked up at Pippin with hollow, bloodshot eyes. “I don’t want any medicine, Pippin,” he said with a weak smile. It’s exactly the reaction Pippin had wanted. When Merry responded like this it always meant he wasn’t too badly off. But Pippin was afraid he may just have been putting on a show so they wouldn’t worry so much.

“I know, Merry,” he answered with a smile, “but I think you may not find this medicine so bad.”

Sam came back in the room then, carrying one of the nicer glasses and a ladle used for serving punch. “I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” he said as Frodo took the things from him, “I didn’t want to get Mr. Bilbo’s nice glass, but all the other cups were dirty and I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t think on it, Sam,” Frodo told him in a calming voice, “It’s of no consequence.”

The eldest hobbit moved to kneel over the pail. With great care, he dipped the ladle in. The blood cascaded over the bowl of the ladle with a little splash and a sound of air being forced from it. He raised the utensil, full to the brim and dripping gore. It was a strange, terrible, mesmerizing beauty as each little red dropped fell from the metal and plopped into the pail, sending up even tinier drops and ripples in the blood.

As Frodo poured the stream of blood into the glass, he felt very odd. He wondered if this was something a hobbit had ever had to do before. And yet somehow it felt appropriate that so unpleasant a task had fallen on he and his friends. After what they’ve gone through, this was nothing.

He held the glass aloft and could see it sparkling in the candlelight with the dull shimmer of the blood inside.

“Here,” Pippin held out his hand, “Let me.”

Without a word, Frodo handed the glass over to his youngest cousin.

Merry’s eyes were closed again. He may have been sleeping, but they couldn’t be sure. Pippin didn’t try to wake him now. He just tilted Merry’s head back a bit and set the edge of the glass to his cold lips. With an ever-so-gentle raise of the glass, the liquid moved forward until it splashed against Merry’s closed mouth. Unconsciously, the lips parted, allowing the drink in.

The three hobbits watched in suspense as Pippin poured the deep red liquid into his cousin’s mouth. It seemed he would swallow, and he did, a bit. But when Pippin increased the flow a little, Merry gagged and sputtered, spitting the fluid out onto himself and the bedsheets. Instantly, Pippin pulled the glass away, but Merry continued to choke on what little was left in his mouth until he had spat it all out.

Sam and Frodo had jumped up by now and helped to raise Merry more into a sitting position. The coughing soon died down and Merry rested again, but his eyes never opened.

“What happened?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” Pippin said, his voice unnaturally high from desperation and the fear he felt for his cousin, “It’s like he physically couldn’t swallow it. But I didn’t give him that much! I don’t know what’s wrong!”

A shadow passed over Frodo’s face as he slid back into his seat. He was weary, and hated what he was about to say.

“His body can’t handle the animal blood,” he told them, “That’s why he had to take mine before.” The other two looked at him with uneasy expressions as to what this meant. Frodo had to continue. They had to hear it. “He’s a hobbit, you see. He must have hobbit blood.”


	11. You Always Hurt...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

There was a silence before Sam said, “Isn’t that what I was aiming at before, Mr. Frodo?”

“Yes, Sam,” Frodo replied, “But I didn’t want to go there until I knew we had no other options.”

“We may have made things worse,” Sam was getting worked up. His voice was rising as he strode the couple paces to where Frodo sat. “If anyone finds out what we did to that cow, we’ll be in hot water for sure and then who’ll help Mr. Merry?”

“Calm down, Sam,” Frodo told him, getting a little worried at the way Sam was acting, “If anyone asks us about it, we’ll find some way to explain it.”

“But what if they don’t believe us?” Sam asked, then started rolling up his sleeve once again, “No, we’ve got to make Merry better now.”

Frodo jumped out of his chair to grab Sam’s arm, looking at him with pleading eyes, “You can’t! We’ll find another way.”

“This is what he needs,” Sam told him, his expression softening at Frodo’s look, “There is no other way.”

“There’s always another way,” Frodo insisted, “We’ll get help somehow. But I won’t have anyone else going through what I went through or worse. Besides, if Merry found out, he’d never trust himself near us again. It’s for him that you mustn’t do it.”

This seemed to pacify Sam, who just pursed his lips and nodded. That’s when they heard Pippin’s groan. It was just a short, weak thing – one that clearly said pain. They turned to look at him, too late now to stop him.

He held the glass in his right hand, resting just under his right wrist. His little pocket knife, traced with red, sat on his knee. He grimaced as he watched the blood flow from the cut in his wrist into the glass. He had struck a vein and the blood was coming quickly. Frodo ran to him.

“Pippin, what are you doing?” he asked in a panic.

“You said it, Frodo,” the young hobbit answered, “It had to be this.”

“We don’t know that,” Frodo said, trying to grab the cup away from him. Pippin pulled his hands out of Frodo’s reach.

“Don’t try to stop me,” he said, “I’m not going to let Merry die!”

He spoke with such force that Frodo stopped and held back. Sam came behind him with the bandages he’d ran to fetch. “The glass is almost full,” Sam said, “We’d best stop the bleeding now.”

When the glass was full, Pippin relented and handed it to Frodo. He let Sam wrap his wrist tight with a bandage then raised it above his head, putting pressure on it with his other hand. His face was solemn. “Now give it to him.”

Frodo hesitated for a moment, then nodded gravely. Merry was still asleep, fallen back now on the pillow. Sam lifted his head while Frodo held the glass to his still mouth.

Almost instantly, Merry began to drink. Just sipping at first, but then deep and greedily. As he did so, Frodo could see the fangs that had seemed to grow from his own teeth. When he had emptied the cup, Frodo pulled it back, but Merry followed it with his mouth. He grabbed it in his hands, trying to lick the last drops out.

Frodo released the glass, startled. He looked at Sam, who appeared just as shocked by the sudden fierce action. When he could get no more from the glass, Merry sniffed the air. Soon he was directed to Pippin, who just had time to look frightened before Merry jumped on him, grabbed his wrist and tore the bandage off.

“Merry, no! Merry! You’re hurting me!” Pippin’s voice got shriller and more panicked until it became simply a screech of pain. Merry didn’t heed it as he latched his mouth on Pippin’s wrist, tearing it open further in his voracity. Sam and Frodo leaped on Merry, trying to pull him away from Pippin. He was too strong and his hold on his cousin too fierce. Finally, fearing for Pippin’s life, Sam did a desperate thing. He picked up Pippin’s knife and stabbed Merry.

This woke him up. Now Merry howled in pain, releasing his grip and staring wide-eyed at the hilt protruding from his side. He looked at the other three hobbits and found similar expressions, all generally shocked at the situation they found themselves in.

“What...” Merry started, then saw Pippin and understood. Pippin lay on the ground, propped up on his elbow, blood flowing from his wrist onto the wooden floor. And while Merry saw surprise in his cousin’s gaze, he also saw something he had never expected those eyes would direct at him.

Fear.

“Oh, no,” Merry whispered, “Oh, Pippin, what have I done?”

“It’s all right,” Pippin told him, though his voice broke as he said it, “I was trying to help you. It’s my fault.”

Merry found himself on his hands and knees, staring at his best friend and blood-kin, and he had no words. “No...” he mumbled, “no, no, no, no,” he got to his feet, running a hand through his hair in frustration, then dashed out the door and they could still hear him as he went, “nonononononono...”

Frodo stood. “Sam.”

“Right,” Sam answered, already pulling out another bandage for Pippin. Frodo ran out the door after Merry.


	12. Some Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

“Merry, wait!” Frodo shouted down the hall as he ran. He caught up to his cousin just as the other was opening the front door. When Merry didn’t stop, Frodo grabbed his arm. Merry pulled it away.

“Let me go, Frodo!” he growled, “I have to get away from you all. You’re not safe.”

“Maybe we’re not,” Frodo told him sternly, “But I won’t let you go running around in the night. We care for you. We want to help you. Those people out there may not be so kind if they discover your secret.”

“I hurt Pippin!” Merry yelled, turning on Frodo, “I could have killed him and I didn’t even realize I was doing it! And the way he looked at me, Frodo...” here his voice quieted, his eyes filled with pain, “He was frightened of me. You can’t understand what that feels like.”

Empathy washed over Frodo’s face and he put his hand on Merry’s shoulder. “I can understand, Merry,” he said, remembering what the Ring had made him do, how it had made him treat Sam, “All too well.”

Merry remembered what he’d heard of their part of the quest and suddenly felt very foolish for saying what he did. On the verge of tears, he embraced Frodo and held him tight. Frodo reciprocated, and for a brief moment, Merry’s breathing slowed and Frodo felt perhaps this crisis had passed. He could feel the hole in Merry’s shirt where Sam had stabbed him in his panic, but to his surprise, Frodo could feel no blood, and it seemed to him as if the wound were already healing. He should have been glad his cousin was apparently unhurt, but it only served as another reminder of what a strange, inhobbit thing Merry had become.

As Merry held Frodo, his chin resting on his cousin’s shoulder, he happened to look down and see the red, barely-healed wound he had inflicted on his beloved kin. No one else had yet seen it (save Sam, who tended it to prevent infection) as Frodo had been very careful to wear a scarf or high collar at all times since the incident. He had no wish to raise questions or upset anyone, least of all Merry. But he had forgotten about it in that instant and his fears were confirmed.

Merry’s eyes widened in horror at the reminder of what he’d done and was still capable of doing. Shoving Frodo away from him quickly, he looked forlorn, lost. His eyes began to water despite himself as he stumbled backward toward the door. He was overwhelmed with emotion. There was so much he wanted to express, to cry out for help, but all he could do was stammer in a tight whisper, “I’m sorry, Frodo. I’m so...I...I have to...”

Not bothering to finish his sentence, he turned and dashed out the door before Frodo could stop him. When Frodo ran the few steps out the door into the night, he could see nothing of his tormented cousin.

He turned to go back inside, but a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye made him stop. He spun, an old instinct forcing his hand to where his sword would have been if he’d made it a habit to carry one to bed. But he relaxed when he saw a small figure coming up the walkway. Long curls bounced in the night breeze and soon a gentle face came into view.

“Good evening, Frodo. How did you know I was coming?”

“What are you doing out so late?” Frodo asked, a bit of scolding in his voice, “It’s not safe.”

“Good to see you, too.”

“Yes, sorry, Rosie,” Frodo said, putting a hand on her back to guide her toward the door, “Just come inside. It’s cold out.”

**

By the time Frodo was back in the living room, Sam and Pippin were there. Sam was stoking the fire and Pippin sat huddled in a blanket in one of the chairs. When the door latched they both looked up to see Frodo and Rosie enter.

Without a word, Sam ran to her and hugged her, not letting go for several seconds. When he looked at her, it was with great love and relief, but she could also see worry in his eyes.

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” she said, setting a book down on the side table while he helped her off with her cloak, “But I had to come as soon as I found this.” She noticed that all of them seemed quite alert already. “Though it appears I needn’t have worried about waking anybody up.”

“It’s been a rough night,” Frodo told her.

“What have you found?” Pippin asked eagerly.

She took a seat and Frodo and Sam followed suit. She grabbed the old book she’d brought and flipped through it as she spoke. “I searched everywhere with no luck, but finally I found this hidden in the basement at Michel Delving. The curator didn’t seem to even realize it was there, so I got it out without much problem.”

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“An old chronicle of some kind. Looks to be several hundred years old at least. The language is a bit odd, but understandable. It seems a hobbit from long ago had an adventure and wrote this story about it. When he came back and told others, no one believed him.”

Pippin was already getting impatient. “But what does it say, Rosie?” he asked, “Does it say anything that will help Merry?”

She got the hint and hurried on. “It seems this fellow ran into something dark and strange at the north end of the Misty Mountains. Something the elves called Gurthweth, Death Shadow, a demon cloaked in black that drained people and animals of blood. Its victims would then become a sort of half-version of it, becoming blood-drinkers themselves.”

“So this thing came after Merry?” Pippin said, then his face became serious and affronted, “How do we kill it?”

“Well, seeing as how it obviously wasn’t killed,” she answered, “whoever wrote this didn’t know how to do it. So I have no idea.”

“But why would it attack Merry?” Frodo asked, “Why him specifically? We’ve not had any reports of such things in the Shire nor anywhere else that I’ve heard. Why would it travel all this way for one hobbit?”

“Do you know what the name of that area is?” she asked.

Frodo realized what she was getting at and became solemn, “Angmar.”

She nodded, “The Gurthweth was a servant of the Witchking.”


	13. Ill Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

Over the next two days, the four hobbits searched everywhere they could think of for the Brandybuck, but they found no sign of him. They’d not heard of any strange attacks or other signals that he’d exposed himself, but time was passing and if he hadn’t drunk anything yet he would need to soon. They knew he wouldn’t want to attack any hobbits, but they also knew full well that if it came to it, he wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.

They met together in the corner of a pub in Bywater after a long day of searching with no results. There weren’t many people in the pub and those that were stayed out of earshot, so they felt reasonably safe about discussing their plans.

“This won’t hold out much longer,” Sam said, “Even a strong hobbit like Mr. Merry can only last so long against such evil workings. And without us there to hold him back...”

“What was he thinking running out like that?” said a frustrated Pippin.

“We’ve been through that, Pippin,” Frodo answered, “He thought he was doing what was best. He didn’t exactly think it through beforehand.”

“But even if he had stayed,” Rosie offered, “Even if we do find him before he hurts someone, what will we do? We still don’t know how to cure him. The book only said that one of the hobbit’s companions was changed and killed himself. They didn’t have time to find a cure.”

Pippin grew panicked at a sudden realization, “You don’t think he’s done that, do you?! He wouldn’t!”

“If it had been you, Pippin, I might have worried,” Frodo said, “But not Merry. I do not believe he would go to that extreme. Not unless he’d actually killed someone, perhaps.”

They sat in silence for a minute, all staring in thought at the table before them. Suddenly, Pippin looked up, “What was it Daisy Proudfoot had said? What was her advice?”

Sam scoffed at the memory, “‘Find a better healer,’ she said. Fat lot of help that was.”

“But it was, Sam,” Pippin said, getting excited, “I didn’t realize it before, but maybe that’s exactly what we need. Who’s the best healer we know?”

“She’s the best healer in Hobbiton,” Frodo said, “and she couldn’t do a thing.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Pippin said, a cheeky smile growing on his face, and suddenly Sam and Frodo got his meaning. “Frodo, do you remember where I put my mantle?” he asked facetiously, “You remember it, the one with the white tree.”

**

It had been several days and nights now. How many, he did not know exactly. It took all of his concentration now to stave off the unconsciousness that threatened to overwhelm him with every blink. He wanted so dearly to sleep, but he knew that if he gave in to this desire someone might die, so he did what he could to stay awake.

He huddled now in the small, dirty hollow beneath a tree in some far-flung field. He had run from Bag End, run from Hobbiton, run from any sign of civilization. He wanted to get as far away as he could from anyone he may have the chance to hurt if whatever it was lurking deep within him got out. Finally, he’d found this place, a good enough one for now, but he knew he couldn’t keep running forever.

He was so weak. He shivered from the cold and from hunger. With a pang of self-chastisement he realized that he’d not eaten or drunk anything at all since his departure and would be feeling weak even if it weren’t for this other...condition. It was because he was in this state that he did not act as he might have when It came.

It was dark and he was tired, so he thought he had succumbed to slumber. When he realized what he saw was real, he also knew he was too weak to do anything about it. He wanted to fight it, to kill it, but he could not.

It was as a vision from the past, a dark-cloaked figure gliding across the field toward him. He thought it a nightmare until he felt its cold breath on his face. It seemed to move so swiftly that it could not be physical, and so smoothly that it could not be mortal. But it was not the grace of the elves. Rather, it more closely resembled the hypnotic swaying motions of a snake.

“What are you?” he asked it when he realized it was real. He had wanted to yell at it, to shout, ‘Get back!’ but he felt himself in a strange trance.

The figure hissed a scornful laugh. “Magnificent indeed,” it whispered in a harsh, grating voice, “Huddled in a hole, terrified of yourself.”

“Wait,” Merry said, suddenly recognizing the thing, “I’ve seen you before. A few months ago, on the road. I thought you were a dream.”

“Soon you’ll be the dream,” the figure hissed, “Dead from hunger or killed by your friends for the monster you’ve become.”

“You did this to me,” Merry said, his voice weaker than he’d hoped, “Why?”

The figure lashed out, grabbing him by the throat. Merry felt the cold breath sting his face. “You thought we would not avenge?” the nightmare asked, “You thought you could slay our master and return to the comfort of your home?”

Finally, Merry knew what this was all about. In the next instant, he realized the further danger and unconsciously looked away, toward the south. The figure saw this and, though Merry could not see its face beneath the hood, it seemed to smile.

“Do not think to save the woman this existence,” it hissed, “I have already visited her.”

Filled with terror, Merry had no response. Apparently satisfied, the figure let him go and was gone in an instant. Merry crawled out of his hole, all fatigue momentarily forgotten, and took off at a hard run toward Hobbiton.


	14. The King's Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

Sam slipped the small saddlebag over the pony’s back, speaking softly into the animal’s ear, “You take care of Mr. Pippin now, Bill. It’s a long way to Gondor and he’ll need someone to watch after him.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sam,” Pippin said, adjusting the elven cloak over his Gondorian raiment.

Sam turned to him, completely serious, “That goes for you, too. I’ll not have him coming back to me half-starved and exhausted.”

Pippin smiled, “Don’t worry, Sam. Old Billy and I’ll have a grand time, I’m sure. The road isn’t as dangerous as it used to be and we won’t be dawdling, anyway.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Frodo asked him.

“Yes, Frodo,” Pippin answered, glancing at the bandage around his wrist, “It’s been long enough, I think. I feel quite well, and I didn’t really lose that much to begin with.” Frodo nodded and embraced him. Pippin mounted the pony and looked down at them somberly. “You’ll keep looking?” he asked.

“We’ll scour the Shire until we find him, Pippin,” Frodo answered, “He’ll be here when you return.”

Knowing he shouldn’t waste another second, Pippin nodded one last goodbye, gave Bill a swift kick and the two charged off down the lane.

When he was just disappearing from view, Frodo turned to see someone else running toward them at what seemed the same pace. With a yelp, he realized it was Merry.

He ran toward the oncoming hobbit, “Merry! You’re back!”

“Yes,” Merry said, panting, when he caught up to him, but was in such haste that he didn’t even hug his cousin, “We have to go south! Éowyn’s in trouble!”

“Slow down, Merry,” Frodo told him as they made their way back toward Bag End, grabbing Merry’s arm to stop him from running off that instant, “What do you mean?”

“The thing that did this to me,” Merry huffed, “It’s vengeance for killing the Witchking. It said it already got Lady Éowyn.”

Frodo looked past him to meet Sam’s worried eyes. “Pippin’s gone to Aragorn for help,” he told Merry, “If there’s a problem with her, too, they should already know of it. Our job is now to find something to do with you while we wait.”

This seemed to relax Merry a bit, though it filled him with worry for Pippin’s safety. But he knew it had to be done and he couldn’t go out himself, so he allowed Sam and Frodo to lead him inside.

**

The white hall was silent. The king sat alone in the room, stroking the arm of his throne and thinking. His reverie was interrupted when a man strode hurriedly yet respectfully into the room.

“What is it, Beregond?” the king asked calmly.

“Excuse me, sire, but you have a visitor.”

“Not now. I am not in the right mind for visitors.”

“I know, sire, but I believe you will want to take this one. He comes with urgent news.” He paused, then added, “it is a perian, king. It is Peregrin.”

Aragorn stood suddenly, giving it now his full attention. “Send him in.” Beregond disappeared back through the door. Aragorn didn’t wait, but strode toward the door as a small figure stepped through. Despite the melancholy mood he was in, he smiled when he saw the Halfling wearing the colors of Gondor.

A smile flashed across Pippin’s face, too, when he saw his old friend. They met in the center of the room and Aragorn clapped his hands on Pippin’s shoulders. “It is good to see you, Pippin, though the timing could be better.”

“The timing was not of my choosing, I’m afraid,” the hobbit answered, “Rather by necessity’s demand. I’ve come to seek your aid.”

A cloud was now over both their faces. “You know I will give it if it is in my power to do so,” said the king.

“I hope it is,” Pippin said, worry creeping into his voice.

Aragorn picked up on this. “What is it, Pippin? Is something wrong with Frodo?”

“Actually,” Pippin began slowly, trying to find the right words. He fingered one of his curls as he formulated his explanation.

Aragorn saw this simple motion and his attention was drawn to the ugly and recent scar on Pippin’s wrist.

Pippin looked up at him with hope and despair, “It’s Merry.”

Aragorn said nothing, but at these words, his features were hardened with realization and concern. Pippin did not have time to say more before Aragorn again placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Come with me.”


	15. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

The Houses of Healing hadn’t changed much since Pippin had been there last. It even seemed to have nearly as many people in it.

As Aragorn led Pippin quietly through the houses, the hobbit looked at each sick-bed they passed. Everyone suffered from the same injury – deep, red bite marks. Suddenly Pippin understood why Aragorn had brought him down here. Sort of.

“What did this?” he asked, unconsciously rubbing his own wrist.

Aragorn just gave him a wordless look and stopped at a large door. When it was opened, Pippin was met with another all-to-familiar sight.

Éowyn lay on a bed, shivering and staring at the ceiling. There were several healers in the room, as well as a three soldiers. When he saw this, Pippin understood.

“It’s the same thing,” Pippin whispered, then asked, “When did it start?”

“About a month ago,” Aragorn answered, looking at Éowyn, “Faramir brought her for help three weeks ago. It took a fortnight for anyone to realize what was going on.”

“Where is Faramir?” Pippin asked, suddenly worried, “Did she…”

Aragorn’s voice was almost a whisper, “Yes.” Pippin looked down. “He recovered, however,” Aragorn continued, “He’s gone now to find help for her.”

“Is there a cure?”

“I attempted every one I know and was able to do nothing. We found one glimmer of hope in the library. Faramir is seeking it now. He should return soon.”

With no more questions for now, Pippin stepped toward the unresponsive Éowyn. Aragorn’s eyes darted to him, but he did not prevent him. Seeing their king’s inaction, the nurses and soldiers did not move, either.

Pippin went forward, approaching the table that was to him at shoulder level. He was uncertain about getting within arm’s reach of her, but he could not help himself. He looked sadly at her beautiful face, contorted and discolored with this sickness.

“She will live, Aragorn,” his voice was soft, but rang in the silent room, “She has to.” By the tightness in his voice, Aragorn knew his thoughts were not really on Éowyn.

Aragorn made no reply as he had none that would provide comfort. The morose silence was broken by the sound of someone charging into he Houses. Aragorn turned to see Faramir burst into the room, his eyes instantly landing on his prostrate wife. When he had contented himself that she was still breathing, he looked to the king.

“You are returned too soon,” Aragorn said, “Could you not find them?”

His question was answered by two more figures walking, a bit more calmly, into the room. Pippin couldn’t help but feel his sprits lifted somewhat by not only the return of Faramir, but now this unexpected sight of an elf and dwarf.

Gimli smiled when he saw Pippin, “Faramir, it is some great company your wife has been keeping in your absence.”

Confusion flitted across the man’s face before his eyes landed on the hobbit. “I am sorry, Peregrin, I had not noticed you there. Hello.”

“That’s all right, Lord Faramir. I’m easy to miss.” Pippin offered a hopeful smile and Faramir weakly returned it. “So, you’re the help?” Pippin asked Legolas and Gimli, “What is it you can do?”

“We’re glad to see you, too, Pippin,” Legolas said with a smirk.

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Pippin backtracked, “I was just wondering-”

“They understand, Pippin,” Aragorn said, “They have just been too long without hobbit company.” He looked to the two in question, “He has come for help, as well,” he answered their unspoken question, “The same thing has happened to Merry.”

A new dark shadow passed over all faces in the room. Faramir impatiently turned from where he was gazing at his wife. “Her time draws short,” he told the others, “We have not time to waste. Can we please begin?”

Pippin looked up at Aragorn, “Begin what?”

**

In the weeks since Pippin’s departure, Merry had only continued to worsen. The sustenance his beast had acquired that night had kept him in decent health for a time, but now he was beginning to deteriorate again. They kept him tied to the bed as before; he seemed hardly able to move, but they had seen him thus previously. They took turns staying up with him.

The door creaked softly as Frodo stepped inside with a bowl of water. The pale candlelight flickered in the breeze caused by the door’s movement. He padded softly across the floor and placed the bowl on the bedside table. Taking a washcloth, he dipped it gently into the liquid. He wrung it, then spread it lightly over Merry’s brow. A shot of steam rose from the cloth. Frodo pulled his hand back quickly, his eyes wide with surprise. He quickly pulled the warm cloth away and dropped it back in the water and put his hand on Merry’s forehead.

“Sam!” he yelled in a panic.

Sam was there in an instant, trailed by Rosie. He saw the worried, startled look on Frodo’s face and followed his gaze to the hobbit in the bed. He saw the unmoving, death-pale face and asked, barely above a whisper, “Is he…”

Frodo shook his head. “He can’t be dead, Sam,” he said, “He’s far too cold.”

**

They sat there in silence, the Lord of Ithillien and the future Thain, by the bedside of the princess of Rohan. Pippin looked on Faramir, holding his wife’s hand, his face tight with worry. The hobbit knew enough to be silent at this moment; he was relieved when Faramir spoke first.

“It tears the soul,” he said, “to see the fire of hate in the eyes of one you love. This is the second time my closest kin has tried to kill me.”

For a moment, Pippin wasn’t certain if he was talking to him or to himself. Then Faramir’s eyes met his and he spoke, “She does not hate you,” his voice was softer than he’d expected it to be, “It is the monster inside her that made her do it.”

He looked up, startled. “What is your meaning?”

Now it was Pippin who was startled, “Surely you know the nature of the beast that rendered her so.”

Faramir relaxed, “You mean the vampire. Yes, I know.”

Pippin couldn’t let that pass. “What else could I have meant?”

Faramir looked to him and sighed, “Éowyn is with child. We have told no one yet, but we’d just found out when this happened to her.”

“Well, that’s great news!” Pippin cheered, “Congratulations.” The serious look in Faramir’s eyes made Pippin’s face fall. “You believe I would have spoken of your child as a monster if I’d known?”

“I had not realized until just that moment, but I fear for my child already. If we can restore Éowyn, what assurance do we have that the child will not be born changed?”

Pippin was motionless with fright at the idea. “Could that really happen?”

“I don‘t know, Peregrin,” Faramir’s voice was tight and soft, “This evil is beyond my understanding.”

He spoke no more after this, but stared with sad eyes at the ghostly face of his wife. Pippin wished Aragorn and Legolas would walk through the door now, but they did not. Seeing the tears welling in Faramir’s eyes, he decided to turn the conversation to a more favorable topic, if he could.

“Do you have a name?”

“What?”

”For the baby. Have you chosen a name?”

“No,” he confessed, “We had not had time to think of it.”

“What does your name mean?”

“It means ‘Jeweled Hunter,’ but I have never been fond of giving one’s children the same name as one’s self.”

“Oh. That is a pity. It is a good name.” Pippin flashed a cheery smile.

Faramir’s expression warmed somewhat. He did not have time to respond, as at that moment the door opened and Aragorn walked in, followed by Gimli and Legolas. Pippin and Faramir looked up at them hopefully. When Legolas entered, he carried with him a small basin, which he handed to Faramir. The man looked inside and could not suppress a flinch.

“Are you well?” Aragorn asked him.

“Yes,” he answered, “But it is not often I am handed a bowl of blood.”

“Legolas…” Pippin started. He had noticed the elf was not wearing his tunic, as usual, but only a sleeveless undershirt. A flax-colored bandage was tied tight around his arm at the elbow. He looked at Pippin and the hobbit did not need to continue.

**

“His skin is colder than ice. The life is leaving him,” said Rosie as she lifted one of Merry’s eyelids to look into the blankly-staring pupil. She could practically see the light dimming. “We cannot wait for Pippin’s return. He needs something now or he will die.”

“Are you sure, love?” Sam asked her, “How can you know that?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, “I just…know.”

“She’s right,” Frodo said, “Look at him. He’s farther gone than I was when Lord Elrond pulled me from the brink. Something must be done for him now or we shall lose him.”

**

Eyelashes fluttered first. Then, eyes moved under their lids. Suddenly, the eyes shot open and she gasped.

Éowyn sat bolt upright. “Where am I? Faramir!”

“I’m here, love,” said her husband, gripping her hand. She looked down and saw him sitting beside her and smiled.

“It’s gone!” her eyes lit with ecstasy, “I can’t feel it any more!” Faramir jumped up and they threw themselves into each other’s arms. Tears trailed from her eyes as she gasped, “How?”

“We have many friends,” was his only answer, and she let it remain at that for the time being.

**

Sam rolled his sleeve back down. The color had already begun returning to Merry’s cheeks. “How much longer has he got now?” Sam asked, leaning back into the chair.

“It’s hard to tell,” Rosie told him as she collected the scissors and scraps of bandage, “Hopefully long enough.”


	16. Elf Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the war, the hobbits return home and have some trouble of a vampire nature. Horror, but with some lighter, funnier bits, too.

“Make haste, young friend. You haven’t much time.”

“Well do I know that, my lord,” Pippin said as Aragorn adjusted Bill’s saddle. “I don’t know how to thank you, Legolas,” he told the elf as he took a phial of red liquid from him.

“You needn’t try,” he answered with a smile, “The war may be over, but the Fellowship shall exist as long as any of us are still alive in Middle Earth.”

“And we shall readily answer any call or assist in any need you may have,” Gimli added.

Pippin suddenly realized they were right and he smiled. “Thank you,” he said, “And you know it is the same with us.”

Aragorn chuckled, “The help of such fine warriors shall be most welcome should we ever need it.”

Pippin slipped the phial into his pocket, then looked back up at them. “There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” he said, “Why did the Gurthweth attack only animals? Why not other people besides Merry and Éowyn?”

“It thought that by limiting its attack it would escape retribution,” Faramir said, “That we would care if it killed a hundred, but not if it only attacked two.” His face set hard. “It was mistaken.”

“You’re going after it?” Pippin asked, his voice laced with hope, anger and excitement.

Faramir nodded, “We shall go as soon as Éowyn is recovered. I must make sure she does not regress before I hunt down the beast that dared violate her.”

Pippin pursed his lips, “Well, when you go, stop by Tuckborough on the way. I’m coming, too.”

“Of course you are,” Aragorn said, with no trace of irony in his voice.

**

It was dark already when Sam heard the clomp of Bill’s hooves coming up the way. Quickly, he shuffled down the hallway to Merry’s room. Frodo was holding his cousin’s shaking hand. The pale visage of the younger hobbit reminded Frodo of those he’d only previously seen when he had worn the ring: the sunken, dead faces of the wraiths. He looked up, startled as Sam burst into the room. “He’s back,” Sam half-whispered.

Without a word, Frodo rose and, trailed by Sam, made it to the front door just as a wet and weary Pippin entered through it. They looked at him expectantly, not sure what to ask first.

With a solemn expression devoid of the victory that might be expected to be there, Pippin pushed back his cloak to pull out a large, clear phial. Inside, they could see something red and could easily guess at its contents.

“What is it?” Frodo asked cautiously.

Pippin’s answer was simple. “Help. From Legolas.”

Frodo just nodded. “And Éowyn?”

“It worked for her.”

Frodo needed no further evidence. He took the phial from Pippin, unstopped it, and looked inside.

“You’d best get out of those wet clothes,” Sam told Pippin, already helping him off with his cloak.

Pippin allowed the wet outer layers of clothes to be peeled from him. His eyes never left Frodo. “It’s not too late, is it?”

“I do not know,” Frodo confessed, “He still breathes, but the light has gone from his eyes. There is no more time to lose.”

As he finished the last sentence, he was already walking back down the hall. Pippin followed closely, with Sam bringing up the rear (and casting dismayed glances at the water Pippin was tracking down the wood floor).

Pippin stifled a gasp at the sight of his cousin that met him upon entering the room. He had much worsened since the Took left; Pippin knew why Frodo had been unsure of his condition. Merry was shaking violently against the restraints they had been forced to use on him still (though they were more lenient than before, only strapping his body down, not his arms). His skin was white and glistened with sweat. His pupils had completely clouded over.

Frodo rushed to the bedside, as did Pippin. Sam remained in the doorway out of respect and maybe just a little fear. Pippin grabbed Merry’s hand and almost immediately let go when he felt the coldness of it. Instead he grasped it all the harder. Merry didn’t even appear to realize he was there. Frodo put his hand under Merry’s chin and tilted his head back. He placed the mouth of the phial between Merry’s lips and poured.

The reaction was instantaneous. Merry stopped shaking and his free hand flew to his mouth, trapping the phial and Frodo’s hand with it in place so that Frodo could not have withdrawn it if he’d wanted to.

A soft gasp escaped Frodo’s throat. Instinctively, Sam took a step forward at this, but forced himself to hold back. Frodo was not injured, just startled.

The phial was quickly drained, but Merry continued sucking, then his teeth clamped down on it so hard that the end of it shattered in his mouth. Frodo yanked his hand back, afraid Merry would continue his frantic search for anything with blood in it. But the broken glass in his mouth distracted him and after spitting it out, he was calmer. Very calm, in fact. He lay quite still now, his breathing returned to normal. Within moments, he was asleep.

**

One week later, Merry was as good as new. Rosie was back in Bag End, to Sam’s great relief. The sun was shining, birds were singing, animals were no longer trying to attack people for no apparent reason...all in all, it was a pretty good day. Of course, they could not completely forget the incident, though they may have liked to. The scars Merry gave his friends still remained, though they usually tried to cover them so he wouldn’t feel the guilt of something he really was not responsible for. He himself was still a bit weak, but he continued to scarf down food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks – which he hadn’t. But now there was only one last task for him to see to.

Pippin bounded into the main room of Bag End, ready to go off and do something (though he never knew exactly what). He’d tried having some fun with Sam, but the gardener was too busy gardening to be very amusing. Frodo was reading and Pippin was content to let him be. Rosie was...well, Rosie. Even when he was young, Pippin was always a bit hesitant about asking girls to play, especially married ones. That left one person.

“Merry, aren’t you done with that yet?” he asked his cousin impatiently.

Merry tapped his pen on the desk, staring at the blank piece of paper. “Well, it’s not an easy task, Pippin. What exactly is the proper way to thank someone for giving you their blood?”

“Oh, sure,” Pippin retorted, “The elf you thank. What about the rest of us?”

Knowing he was just joking, Merry said, “Well, isn’t that what family’s for?” (What he meant was, ‘How can I begin to apologize, much less thank you, for what happened?’), “Besides, without the elf, you’d still be looking like supper. Maybe you should be writing him one of these, too.”

Frodo looked up and smiled at their bantering.

“You know, I wonder if elf blood cures anything else.” Pippin mused, “I don’t suppose you could ask him for some more samples to try out. You know, in case one of us gets a cold or something.”

“Will you be serious, Pippin? I really need help with this. I can’t just let this go without any response.” Merry’s brow furrowed in concentration.

“All right,” Pippin said, plopping down in a chair next to him, “How about this: ‘Dear Legolas, Thanks for the blood. It was delicious. Yours, Merry’.”

“Pip!” Merry looked stunned, “I can’t write that!”

“Why not?” Pippin asked him, feigning total seriousness, “He’s an elven prince. Are you saying he’s not delicious?”

“I...don’t remember,” Merry said, trying not to be flustered by the awkwardness of that question.

“You could always send him some of your blood. You know, sort of returning the favor.”

“You’re not helping, Pippin.”

Frodo chuckled and went back to his reading.


End file.
